


Cold Feet

by kyberqueen



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mentions of alcohol, brief mentions of surgery, mentions of drink, mentions of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyberqueen/pseuds/kyberqueen
Summary: Reader is a badass medic/bounty hunter who happens to be hopelessly in love with her stoic, metal-clad shipmate. Lil bit of jealous Din, some good old bed sharing, and a little bit of fluff :)
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 198





	Cold Feet

You had only been on this ice planet for two rotations, but the chill had already crept its way into your insides. Your bones ached and your joints creaked, and you wondered how the little green child you had been tasked with managing seemed entirely unaffected by the unforgiving cold. You and the kid had holed up quite nicely for the past two days, bundling yourselves in blankets and tucking the child away into its pod, which had been outfitted with a temperature regulation system. _Lucky bastard._ While it slept peacefully inside its cradle, you had used up nearly all of the water reserve on the Crest. You’d been taking hour-long trips to the refresher, the scalding water providing little relief from the dull, cold ache that gnawed at your shivering limbs. Mando previously explained that successfully catching this bounty would take four rotations, give or take, and you had been too exhausted to ask questions or remember to replenish your food and water reserve. Now, your supplies were running low and you were dreading the mile-long walk into town to restock.

You strapped traction spikes onto your sturdiest boots and wrapped yourself in your warmest layers, stealing one of Mando’s old cloaks for good measure. Once you checked to make sure the child was asleep and comfortable in its pod, you set off across the frozen landscape. Ice rose like a parted sea to your left and right, and in the distance, you saw the gentle flicker of a lantern in the window of a dome-shaped structure. You picked up the pace as you walked; dusk was upon you and although you knew you could take care of yourself, you feared what could be hiding inside the many caves that marked the surrounding ice-walls.

You were an herbalist by trade, first catching Mando’s eye with your skill in preparing poisons. You had taken out two trandoshans with two quick, well-aimed throws of a dart tipped with your poison of choice—it was fast acting and non-lethal, and Mando in his curiosity and awe was _just_ distracted enough for the third trandoshan to slip a dagger through the gap in his beskar. You finished off the third trandoshan easily enough, and Mando quickly became acquainted with your _second_ skill set. You dragged him back to his ship, prepared a hemostatic tincture, stripped him of his beskar chest plate, and stitched up a two-inch laceration to his spleen. You insisted on staying with him until you could confirm that his wound had healed, but it had been three months and the two of you had reached a sort of mutual understanding. You cared for the child and assisted on bounties, and he gave you free room and board and an overly generous 30% of the bounty profit. Somewhere between bandaging his wounds, assisting him on bounties, and caring for his child, you had noticed a certain tightness in your chest whenever your hand brushed his. You would find yourself seeking out his company more and more, relishing in quiet conversation as he piloted you through the stars. You were falling. Hard. And you knew even on the off chance that he returned a _fraction_ of the feelings you were developing for him, it could never happen. You’d never see his face or know his name. It was stupid, really. You were business partners, together purely out of convenience. You needed to get this silly crush out of your system before you managed to screw up the tentative friendship the two of you had grown.

Once you haggled for rations and water, you made up your mind that you would go to the nearest cantina and spend the rest of your credits on forgetting your troubles for a while. Although your plodding pace didn’t seem to carry you any further towards the lantern in the window, you were now only a few yards away from the village outpost. You quickened your stride, rushing into the hemispherical stone building and relishing in the warmth that overwhelmed you as the door slammed shut against the cold. You had been so lost in your thoughts you had nearly forgotten to shiver. You leaned casually over the counter to begin your haggling, the man behind it matching your sorry attempt at negotiating lower prices stride for stride. He was handsome, with an easy smile and a voice that rumbled deep from within his chest.

“I’ll do thirty portions, at three quarters of a credit each, but that’s the highest I can go,” you stated confidently. You fiddled with the ring on your right hand, hoping he couldn’t tell just how little experience you had at this.

The man, Linor, grinned. “I think we can arrange that—but only if you join me for a drink after this. I’ll throw in the water rations on the house.”

A drink couldn’t hurt, right? You were planning on headed to the bar anyways.

“It’s a deal, then,” you smiled, reaching out to shake his hand.

“It’s a deal,”.

**********************

You were four drinks in, and you were finally feeling _warm_. Your laughs bubbled in your throat, and the raucous atmosphere of the cantina dulled the cold ache that had settled in your bones. The room had taken on a soft, undulating glow, and your cheeks were flushed and gleaming. Linor was an excellent conversationalist, but the pair of you had been at the cantina for three hours, and you could tell he was itching to take you back to his ship. His hand had migrated from the top of your knee to your upper thigh, and when you laughed his eyes lingered on your parted lips for just a moment too long. You crossed your legs, effectively removing his hand from your thigh, and cleared your throat.

“What time is it? I promised my friend I’d be home by midnight,” a white lie, of course, but Linor didn’t need to know that.

“It’s quarter to eleven—comm them, let ‘em know you’ll be late. You’re coming to my place, right?” You didn’t like the sound of Linor’s tone, it was too confident, too demanding. His hand was back on your upper thigh as well, this time a rough squeeze jarring you fully back to reality. The more aware you became of your situation, the more you mentally kicked yourself for letting yourself end up in the cantina in the first place. You had left the baby in its _pod_ , for maker’s sake. What if someone raided the ship, or the pod shut off, or the child got sick, or—

“Actually, she was just leaving,” a rough voice explained from behind you. A familiar voice. Mando.

You turned quickly to face him, and nearly wobbled off your stool. Maybe you had more to drink than you thought. You gave him a lazy once-over, letting your gaze linger on his armored form, and aptly assessed that he didn’t have the bounty with him.

“Didja get the bounty?”

“He’s in the carbonite freezer on the ship, the baby’s asleep. Let’s go,” He sounded _pissed._

You stood from your stool, and promptly tripped face-first into his beskar chest-plate. You definitely had more to drink than you thought. You issued an insincere apology to Linor, who was making some very intense eye contact with the wood grain of the bar. As much as you hated to say it, you _loved_ the effect Mando had on people. Tall, confident Linor wouldn’t even look him in the eye. Mando could be downright _scary_ , and the best part was that he didn’t even seem to realize it. You enjoyed your little train of thought for a moment, until you circled back to the fact that his scary-bounty-hunter-tone was directed at _you_. His visor had not left your face the entire time you were lost in thought. You wobbled again, against your will.

“You’re drunk,”. His head tilted, the black t of his helmet fixating on your flushed face. He sighed, muttered something about talking about this in the morning, and scooped one arm under your knees and another at the small of your back. He carried you back out into the cold and you shuddered involuntarily as he dumped you onto the cold metal of the speeder. He shuffled in behind you on the speeder, his armored thighs bracketing yours. You lost your balance yet again, and as you steadied yourself against Mando’s chest you were suddenly very grateful that he had seated you in front of him rather than behind. He fired up the engine, and the two of you flew across the frozen landscape back to the ship.

If you thought you were cold before, now you were _freezing_. The wind bit at your exposed face, and despite bundling yourself in Mando’s old cloak, the icy air slipped in between the grain of the fabric and sapped the residual warmth from your limbs. You shifted further back into Mando’s chest, fixating on the rumble of the engine as you approached the Crest. The speeder skidded to a stop, and Mando slid off and fiddled with his vambrace for a moment before giving you a quiet, “C’mere,” and carrying you through the cold into the Crest. He carried you right past your little blanket pile and set you down in a corner of the ship. He punched a few more buttons on his vambrace, and a door opened behind you, revealing a small room with a bed and—was that a heated blanket?

“It’s warmer in here, I’ll take the cot,” Mando explained.

“Hey, no. Wait, is this your room? I’m not gonna steal your bed,” you crossed your arms defiantly, leaning back on the wall for support.

“I’m asking you to,” his voice betrayed a hint of exasperation, and you remembered the long, exhausting day he most definitely had. “Look, you’re shivering. If you freeze to death in that cot the kid’ll never forgive me,”.

You sensed you were fighting a losing battle.

“But if _you_ freeze to death in that cot, the kid’ll never forgive _me,_ ” you mentally patted yourself on the back for that _excellent_ stroke of logic.

“I’ll be fine, just go—”

“Why don’t we just share? Body heat, right?” Did you really just say that? You were sober enough to know that you _definitely_ should have kept your mouth shut. You probably just made him uncomfortable, what if it was against his creed? You were mentally kicking yourself for the second time tonight.

Mando paused a moment before responding.

“Alright—the helmet stays on, though,” He was already stripping himself of his beskar, but his mechanical movements betrayed his exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” You made your way over to the bed, shucking off your shoes and quickly slipping under the covers. The thin mattress was softer than the cot, but _barely_. Was being comfortable against the Way?

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that tipsy you would be sharing a bed with the man you’d been crushing on for months. With your luck, you’d probably drool on him in your sleep. Mando hit the lights, and moments later you felt a depression on the other side of the mattress, and Mando’s warm, solid body against your back. You scooted further back against him, and as if on instinct, he draped his arm around your waist. You were finally comfortable—you felt warmer than you had at the cantina. You were quickly drifting off to sleep, and by the sound of Mando’s modulated breathing, he was out like a light. A slight snore from under the helmet confirmed your suspicions. The man was like a _generator_. He practically radiated heat, and you suddenly felt less guilty that you hadn’t taken the cot like you had originally insisted on. You bent your knees, slipping your cold toes in between his calves.

_CLANG_

His helmet hit the durasteel wall, and you felt his entire body jolt.

“Why the _fuck_ are your feet so cold?”


End file.
